


Buggre Alle This

by Signe (oxoniensis)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bodyswap, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-17
Updated: 2008-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1638770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxoniensis/pseuds/Signe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodyswap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buggre Alle This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetestdrain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetestdrain/gifts).



> A huge thank you to a_fallen_sister for making me fall for this fandom and audiencing the story, and katkim for betaing.
> 
> Written for sweetestdrain.

 

 

"Merlin, what in the name of the gods have you been doing? You reek worse than a blocked privy." 

Arthur takes a step back. He's used to battle conditions, and times when his weekly bathe isn't possible, but the stench coming off Merlin is enough to tax the strongest man.

Arthur sighs. He has a wealth of excellent company to chose from. Any of his knights to begin with. They're well educated, loyal, noble. All willing to serve him. Yet here he is, once again spending his time with Merlin. Who is definitely not noble, cannot fight, sing or play a musical instrument, has only a rudimentary understanding of battle strategies or any other matters of interest to Arthur, and is only reliable and obedient when he chooses (and he mostly chooses plain insolence).

And who is also really, incredibly smelly.

Merlin doesn't even have the good grace to look ashamed. He lifts an arm, takes a long sniff, and winces. Then grins sheepishly.

"There was a bit of accident," he says. Of course. There always is, with Merlin, and it's never his fault. "It wasn't my fault," he says, and Arthur can't help himself. He bursts out laughing.

"I need you to muck out the stables and groom the horses, but you'd better find yourself a scouring stone and a lot of water first, because not even a donkey would be able to stand you right now. And give those clothes away—you'll never get the stench out of them."

Merlin stands there, as though he's blissfully unaware that he's just been given an order. "Go on, shoo." Arthur makes shooing movements.

"Oh," Merlin says. "You mean you want me to go _now_?"

Arthur rolls his eyes and wonders how on earth he's been lumbered with the dumbest manservant in the land.

"Come back when you've cleaned up and done your duties. I want to beat you at dice again," Arthur calls out. Though why he encourages Merlin to keep him company he doesn't know.

*

Nimueh watches. She watches the prince and the sorcerer, watches them become closer, spend more time together than the prince has with any previous manservant. She watches as Merlin stands close behind Arthur, serving his food, and Arthur smiles and laughs. Smiles at Merlin.

And as she watches, she has her answer.

She knows how to destroy Merlin.

She dips her forefinger in the water. The ripples spread out, distorting their images, and, as they hit the edge of the bowl, Nimueh begins to chant.

_Ariean llewisant drasora ab feal._

_Arasta, culioch fre am seere._

_Merlin e Pendragon va brih._

She dips another finger into the water and begins to swirl it, around and around, chanting as she does, faster and faster until the words are shattering the air and the water is spilling over the basin and the images are indistinguishable one from the other.

Then she smiles.

All is set in motion.

*

"And then I feinted to the left, like this," Arthur says, demonstrating with his knife and a hunk of bread, "and lunged hard to the right, so fast he didn't see it coming."

Lady Enid giggles appreciatively. "You're so brave," she says, and leans forward just enough for Arthur to get more than a glimpse of plump cleavage.

There's a snicker behind him which rapidly turns into a cough. Merlin. Of course. 

"My tankard is empty." Arthur waves it pointedly in Merlin's face.

"I'm sorry, sire," Merlin says. "I was so engrossed in your story I quite forgot my duties for a moment."

Merlin has the knack of making even appropriate responses sound insulting. And he still doesn't fill Arthur's tankard.

"Ale," Arthur demands.

"Ah, yes," Merlin says, and mercifully, for once, manages to fill Arthur's tankard without spilling anything on Arthur.

"I heard you slew a fuath one time, and saved Camelot from its evil," Lady Enid says encouragingly.

Arthur takes a swig of ale to wet his throat. This is one of his favourite stories. Not because of his part in it, of course—he's not a boastful man—but because it highlights the strengths of Camelot and the kingdom, and Arthur's proud of both. His throat feels a little dry, so he takes another drink. It doesn't help, and he's starting to feel dizzy, the dishes on the table in front of him are spinning, and truly that is a horrible trick. Whoever's doing it needs to stop, and he tries to say so, but his throat is so dry now he can't make sounds come out of it. He thumps his hand down on the table, and distantly hears Lady Enid screaming—though why she's so distant he doesn't understand because he's sitting right next to her—but everything is going dark and quiet and there must be something terrible happening.

He tries to call for Merlin, to reassure him, but he can't manage that.

*

His pillow is moving. A rat, no doubt.

If he had his dagger to hand he'd kill it. 

He can hear a voice, mumbling something. Must be Merlin. He can fetch Arthur's dagger. "Merlin," he calls, or tries to call, because his voice doesn't seem to work. 

He must have one hell of a hangover. He lifts his hand—that's working, at least—and presses it against his forehead. Something feels wrong, but he can't quite place it.

His pillow moves again, and he remembers the rat. Wretched vermin—Merlin needs to start keeping his room cleaner. He opens an eye, just a fraction—he's not sure he could bear more—and, oh. His father's face is looming above him, though he's not looking at Arthur, he's looking at something to Arthur's left. Arthur needs to work out what's going on. He forces both eyes open and lifts his head.

He's half under the high table in the great hall, his father kneeling by his side, Lady Enid hovering anxiously, and the pillow his head is lying on appears to be one of his knights. Who's wearing a shirt not unlike Arthur's. And Merlin is nowhere to be seen. 

He groans, and thankfully he's not been struck mute because he hears the groan loud and clear. 

"What's happened?" his father asks. "Arthur, son, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, yes, just—" Arthur croaks, his voice sounding wrong, and his father turns and glares at him.

"Did I speak to you?" he asks, and Arthur knows that tone. He shuts up.

Sitting up is making him dizzy, but he grits his teeth and turns around to look at his pillow.

It's him. 

He's the pillow.

He's still lying on the floor.

He gulps. He looks at his hands—not his—and the sleeves of his shirt—not his shirt—and down to his britches. Not his, but very familiar. A pair of britches that he ordered given away just earlier today.

Arthur ponders what he knows. His body is on the floor. He appears to be in Merlin's body. Merlin is nowhere to be seen or heard, which is unheard of whenever there's a disaster.

There's only one possible conclusion.

The worst possible one.

*

Arthur kneels over his body and shakes it. "Sire," he says, his voice working properly at last, though it sounds horribly wrong to hear Merlin's voice come out when he speaks. "Sire, are you okay," he says, and kneels closer, close enough to whisper. "Merlin, I know it's you, but you're going to have to act like you're Arthur. Damn, I hope you're quicker witted than usual right now, because you're in my body and I'm in yours, and if you bugger this up, chances are our heads are going to end up on the block."

He hears a whimper from his body. A most un-Arthur-like whimper, and Arthur winces for his reputation.

He moves back a fraction, and manages to discreetly kick Merlin in the side as he does so. Merlin needs to open his eyes and the two of them need to go somewhere private as soon as possible and sort this horror out.

Merlin stirs and opens his eyes. He scrunches his face up abominably, squints, and then starts feeling his face. Arthur rolls his eyes—there's no time for this now. He nudges Merlin, who looks at him and blanches. Arthur had never realised his skin could go that pale.

"You're looking rather unwell, sire. I think you need to retire for the night," Arthur suggests.

"I've called for Gaius to take a look at you. Both of you," his father says, with a half-hearted glance across at Arthur.

Arthur mouths a _no_ at Merlin, and finally he appears to gather his wits.

"I'm sure it's nothing, sire, uh, father. We must have eaten something bad earlier. The stew I expect, bad meat, you know what it's like. It's not Merlin's fault, he didn't cook it."

Arthur rolls his eyes again and wills Merlin to shut up. He gets up and holds out his arm to Merlin, but the idiot's still rabbiting on.

"I got the runs earlier, something terrible. That must be what made me dizzy just now," he improvises, and any minute now Arthur is going to punch him in the face, even though it's his own face Merlin's wearing. 

"It still won't hurt to have Gaius make sure you're all right," Uther says as Merlin stumbles to his feet. Merlin nods, looking like a weasel in a trap, and finally they're able to leave.

*

Arthur closes his bedchamber door behind them and leans against it with a sigh of relief. He'd stumbled twice on the stairs—he hasn't been this short for years, well, months at least. And for a moment it actually felt as though the steps moved and stopped him from sprawling. He's clearly still a little disoriented. 

Merlin just looks plain terrified. "This can't be happening."

"Clearly it is," Arthur points out helpfully.

"Your father. He'll have me executed if he finds out." Merlin's actually shaking like a broken branch in an autumn gale.

"He would, yes," Arthur says, but he's not unfeeling. "Although right now he'd have trouble, seeing as he'd have a choice of executing you in my body, or your body with me in it." The words don't sound quite as reassuring out loud as he intended. Probably because he's not entirely sure his father wouldn't go for the option of both. Perhaps that's the intention—a crafty sorcery that strikes a blow at the heart of Camelot but leaves the actual killing to another hand. 

Whatever the motivation behind it, though, one thing is certain. This must surely be powerful dark sorcery, and there can be no good meant by it.

"Who do you think did this?" Merlin asks. Arthur is tempted to comment that he's been awake all of a minute longer than Merlin since this happened, so he's hardly had time to work it all out. But Merlin still looks as feeble as a newborn, and very much as though he's about to throw up, so Arthur restrains himself.

Arthur's head aches. "That's what we need to find out." 

"Gaius," Merlin says, and looks up hopefully. "Gaius can help."

"No. This is our secret, and we are going to keep it just between the two of us." This is the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened to Arthur, and the last thing he wants is anyone finding out. He pictures Morgana's face for a moment, imagines her amusement, and groans.

"Are you feeling all right?" Merlin asks, obviously misinterpreting the groan. 

"That is the stupidest thing you've said today, which is saying something."

*

Arthur needs to do some rapid thinking.

First he needs to come up with a story convincing enough to fool Gaius. Ideally one that won't involve Arthur having to swallow any foul potions. Though if Merlin has to, he'll count that a bonus.

Next he needs to find a way to swap them back into their own bodies. 

That's all.

He has a few minutes to solve the first problem, a little longer for the second one.

Arthur smart enough to know when he's screwed. 

He's royally screwed.

*

"We're going to have to tell Gaius." Merlin's slumped on the bed, kicking up his feet as though he's never seen feet before.

Arthur doesn't want to agree. But Gaius is a discreet man—no one's ever found out about the time Arthur got a sore on his backside from too long in the saddle—so if anyone has to be told, Gaius is a safe choice. And probably their best bet at finding an answer. He nods. "Very well."

Just in time. There's a tap at the door, and Gaius' voice calling out. Arthur motions Merlin to open it, and Merlin looks steadily back at him. 

Oh. He is, to all intents, Merlin. That means he needs to open the door. He scowls, but gets up anyway and lets Gaius in.

Gaius is breathless and flushed. He stands in the doorway as though he's run this far and can run no further. "I was half-expecting to find you both on your deathbeds," he pants, "judging by the message I received."

Merlin pouts. "There's no need to sound disappointed."

"I'm sorry, sire, I can assure you that was not my intent," Gaius replies. Somehow, hearing Gaius mistake Merlin for him is even more shocking that his own father not recognising him.

"The thing is—" Arthur begins.

"We've got a problem—" Merlin says at the same time.

"Perhaps if just one of you tries to tell me, it will be easier on my poor old ears," Gaius interrupts.

Merlin looks at Arthur and Arthur looks back and shrugs. "It's all yours," Arthur says.

Merlin screws up his face a moment then just blurts it out. "We've been swapped. Our body's are swapped. I'm Merlin," he says, "and he's Arthur." He points, then waits for the reaction.

Gaius bursts out laughing. "Ah, a very good prank, sire, but I wasn't born yesterday. It's not that easy to pull the wool over my eyes."

"It's true," they both say.

Gaius shakes his head in mock despair. "And next you'll be trying to convince me that the tooth fairy exists."

Merlin gets up and goes over to Gaius. "I can prove it." He whispers something in his ear, far too quiet for Arthur to pick up. Whatever he says, Gaius looks startled. He stares at Merlin a moment then sighs.

"Oh, dear, boys. This is bad," he says.

Merlin nods. "Very bad." Arthur has the distinct feeling there's something going on that he's not seeing. Some secret between the two of them, some bond he doesn't share, and he doesn't like that. Still, that's an issue for another day. For now, there's one priority.

"Have you ever heard of such a thing before, Gaius?" Arthur asks. Meaning _have you heard of it and do you know how to fix and by God, if you do, fix it now_. He doesn't say that, of course. It wouldn't be dignified. 

Gaius rubs his chin. "No, Merlin, oh, sorry, sire, I haven't. And this is quite confusing to an old mind like mine, so I hope you will forgive me if I address you wrongly."

Arthur hides his disappointment and gives Gaius a reassuring look. "Of course," he says graciously.

Gaius looks thoughtful. "I must do some research. I'll need Merlin's help. Though, hmm, it will look most peculiar if Merlin comes with me and your highness stays here."

"We need to stick together," Merlin says, all too eagerly Arthur thinks. He'd really like some time alone right now. A few minutes of screaming and shouting and punching something inanimate might not actually solve anything, but he thinks he'd feel better for them. But Merlin is annoyingly right. Just the thought of Merlin, on his own, attempting to act like Arthur—it doesn't bear thinking about.

"We will have to declare this sickness of yours serious enough that you need to rest for a day or two," Gaius says. "I will inform the king, and there is no reason why anyone should be suspicious, especially as I gather both of you fell dizzy at the feast this evening. Speaking of which, are you feeling any ill effects?"

Merlin shrugs. "I feel weird, but I think it's just not being used to this body."

Arthur agrees. "Merlin is incredibly scrawny," he complains. "Don't you eat enough?" 

Gaius snorts. "Oh, he eats plenty. It's a good thing we have the provision of the king's table, or he would impoverish me."

Merlin blushes, which looks very wrong on Arthur's face. "I'm a growing boy," he complains. "I need to keep my strength up."

Arthur looks down at himself disapprovingly. "Yes, well, when this is all over, you are going to start learning to fight, and put some muscle on. I shall organise drills for you. It reflects badly on me if my servant is skin and bone."

"Wow, I can't wait," Merlin says sarcastically.

Gaius looks pained. "Perhaps you would be best served by concentrating at the issue on hand?"

Arthur suspects frustration has been a frequent emotion for Gaius since Merlin arrived. He feels for him. "It's late, and there's nothing much we can do tonight. Obviously Merlin will have to sleep here, and I shall stay to prompt Merlin and make sure he doesn't say or do anything too idiotic." 

Gaius nods his agreement as he leaves.

*

"What now, then?" Merlin asks. 

"Now, we sleep."

"Maybe we'll wake back up in our own bodies?" Merlin says hopefully.

"Yes, Merlin, that's what's going to happen. A powerful sorcerer has cast a spell over us, but it's just a harmless prank and it'll fizzle out in the night, and we'll wake up back to normal." 

Merlin mutters something under his breath. Arthur decides not to order him to repeat it out loud. He pulls off the scarf that Merlin has perpetually wound around his neck. It's hideously itchy, like the rest of Merlin's clothes.

"Do you have fleas?" Arthur asks.

"No," Merlin says, and really, he needn't act that offended. It's a perfectly reasonable question.

"Then why do I feel so itchy? Oh, no, you don't have some hideous skin disease, do you?" That would be the final straw.

"No, Arthur, I don't have any diseases. I just have delicate skin. More delicate than yours apparently," he says smugly, as though delicate skin makes him more princely than a prince.

"You mean you've been coddled," Arthur retorts, pulling off his britches. He takes a glance down before pulling on his night shirt, and then a second glance, because damn. That is intolerable. Merlin is so skinny, and slighter than Arthur everywhere, except, apparently, _there_. And as Merlin's also in his borrowed night shirt by now, he's no doubt seen the difference for himself. Arthur flushes, and pulls his night shirt on. He's a grower, he tells himself, and besides, size isn't everything.

Merlin's about to climb into bed—Arthur's bed. Arthur glares at him. "What do you think you're doing?" he asks. He feels his eyes heat up and Merlin slips as though the rug just moved underneath him. He lands on his arse and scowls up at Arthur, as though to blame Arthur for his clumsiness. It's not Arthur's fault Merlin's clumsy whatever body he's in. 

"Going to bed," he says. "Sire," he tags on like an insult.

Arthur bites his lip. The bed is big enough for both of them, and for appearance sake Merlin is the one who should be sleeping in it, and as Arthur has no desire to sleep on the floor unnecessarily, that means sharing is the practical option. "Get in then," he says, "and move over. I always sleep on this side."

*

Arthur wakes up slowly. He stretches under the covers. He must have been drinking a lot last night, because he feels most peculiar this morning. Not himself at all.

"Urgh," he says, sitting up with a rush as he remembers. He looks to his left, and there's a snoring lump under the covers, with very familiar hair poking out at the top. He kicks it. "Wake up," he says.

"Urgh," Merlin mutters, face still buried under the bedclothes. "Urgh," he repeats, more forcibly, as he wakes up properly, sits up and stares at Arthur. "It wasn't a dream, then," he says stupidly.

Arthur allows him a moment's stupidity. After all, magic is hardly an every day occurrence.

"Gaius will be informing my father that I'm ill, and that you're tending to me. He will no doubt come to visit, so you will have to stay in bed for the time being. If you're well enough to be up, you'll be expected to perform your duties, and we need to avoid that at all costs."

"So, while I'm in bed, you're going to be waiting on me," Merlin says, and for the first time since this all happened, there's a trace of a smile on his face. Trust Merlin to find some amusement in this.

"When anyone else is in the room, yes, I suppose so. At least I know what a servant's duties are—I'll just have to be careful not to be too good at them, or people will get suspicious." Merlin pulls a face at him, which Arthur wisely ignores. "Otherwise, no. And if you try to take advantage of the situation, you will be spending all your free time in the stocks when you're back in your own body." It's Arthur's turn to smile.

"Of course, for now, you're the one at risk of being put in the stocks," Merlin points out gleefully. "Don't worry, though, most of the kids like me really, and the fruit doesn't hurt. Vegetables do, especially cabbages, but they don't rot so quickly, so they don't generally have many to throw. And you get used to it." Merlin's smile is huge now, but Arthur's sure it'll be wiped off soon enough, so he lets it slip. Merlin _is_ a pretty good sport about being put in the stocks so often.

Arthur swings his feet out of bed, remembering at the last moment to allow for having shorter legs. He picks up Merlin's clothes from yesterday—they don't feel any better for having been crumpled up on the floor overnight.

"I'm going to fetch breakfast for us. Lock the door behind me, and don't open for anyone other than Gaius or me," Arthur says.

"What if the king arrives?" Merlin asks, looking horrified.

"He won't. Not this early. Besides, I won't be long," Arthur promises.

*

Arthur learns three things from his visit to the kitchens. 

Two of the kitchen maids have crushes on Merlin.

The head cook—a gigantic woman of uncertain age and many warts—has a crush on Merlin.

One of the kitchen boys has a crush on Merlin.

The kitchen boy is the only one who attempts to grab his arse. Fortunately Arthur is swift on his feet, even in Merlin's body.

*

Merlin answers warily when Arthur taps on the door. "Who's there?" he calls out, sounding as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night. Clearly Arthur is going to have to give him a crash course in sounding like a prince. 

"It's me, Ar—Merlin," Arthur says, catching himself quickly.

"Coming," Merlin calls, and then there's a crash.

"What's happening," Arthur calls in a loud whisper, wishing he could see through the door. And for a second, he imagines he can, he sees Merlin with his feet tangled in the bed clothes, trying to extricate himself, and then he blinks and there's just a solid wooden door in front of him. Arthur shakes his head—it must have been a hallucination, some lingering effect of yesterday's dizziness.

When Merlin lets him in, and the bedclothes are on the floor exactly as they were in the hallucination, Arthur shakes his head again. It's pure fluke, his mind playing tricks on him—after all, it was obvious from the sounds what was happening. 

Merlin looks edgy. "Is something the matter?" 

"No," Arthur says. He puts the dishes on the table. "Eat up," he says, and tucks into his porridge. 

*

Gaius arrives not long after they've finished their breakfast. 

"Your father has been informed of your condition," he assures Arthur, then elaborates, "well, obviously not your real condition. I've told him that it was, as Merlin originally suggested, bad meat, which has given you a fever and nausea. I'm here to provide you with a potion, which you may inform the king tasted disgusting but made you feel better. Although if you need to get rid of him quickly, you can always make as though you're about to be violently sick. I find that sends most men running, even kings." 

Gaius smiles, and Arthur can't help but smile back. Gaius' smile is remarkably like Merlin's at times, both amused and a little wicked. And it's not the only likeness between the two. Which, now Arthur thinks of it, makes sense. More sense than anything else does at the moment. He makes a mental note to question Merlin at an appropriate moment.

Gaius places a large cloth parcel on the table. Merlin leans over and unwraps it, pulling out three hefty books. They look to be books of natural remedies and science.

"That was as many as my old bones could manage in one trip," Gaius says, "but I shall bring more later. Might as well put your minds and eyes to use, while you have nothing else to occupy you. Well, I'm off now. I'm going to be busy today, seeing as I'll have to run all my errands myself, besides trying to sort out what's happened to the two of you."

"Sorry, Gaius," Merlin says, and Gaius pats him on the shoulder as he leaves.

*

The sound of rustling parchment soon gets irritating.

"Anything yet?" Arthur asks. His eyeballs feel dry from studying, and he's still no more than a quarter way through the first book.

Merlin shakes his head. He looks as though he wants to say something—he keeps looking up at Arthur, then biting his lip and looking back at his book again.

"Spit it out," Arthur says eventually.

"What? Nothing. There's nothing I need to spit out," Merlin says, far too rapidly and unconvincingly.

"Merlin, I know when you're lying, and it's even easier to tell when you're in my body. So just tell me now, or I'll find a way to make you talk."

"Oh, really?" Merlin challenges. "You'll make me talk?"

"I know my body. I know how to have you on the floor begging for mercy faster than an adder can strike. Or have you forgotten our first meeting?"

"I think you forget that I'm wearing the battle tried body, and you're in my very ordinary servant's body," Merlin says. At least he appreciates that Arthur has the better physique. Not that Merlin's body is that bad—a little shorter than Arthur, and scrawnier, but he's not as weak as he looks, and—Arthur is most certainly not going to let himself get distracted pondering the relative merits of Merlin's body. 

He gets back to the point. "It's not just muscle that counts."

"Come on then, try it on," Merlin taunts.

So Arthur does. He dances from side to side a moment, up on his toes, watching Merlin and his every reaction, feints a few times, then throws a jab to the right that he doesn't intend to land, and Merlin falls for it, expects to fight, so when Arthur grabs him by the middle and starts tickling him under his armpits, he folds immediately.

"Stop," he's begs, curled up on the floor like a woodlouse.

"Admit that I'm your master in any body," Arthur demands, but Merlin shakes his head.

"No," he manages to splutter, so Arthur goes for the kill. His belly. Merlin's too weak with laughter to stop him, and this time when Arthur tells him to submit he shakily nods his head.

Arthur hauls him up, and they sit back down on their stools. "So," Arthur says. "Now you have to talk, for honour's sake, as you lost the fight."

All the laughter goes out of Merlin's face. "We're not going to find the answer here," he says.

"What, you're going to give up that easily? I'd expected better of you, Merlin. You may be a fool at times, but I hadn't taken you for a quitter."

Merlin gets a strange look on his face, one that Arthur can't read. "Arthur, what do we know about what's happened to us?"

It seems an odd question, but Arthur humours him. "We know that our bodies have been switched. That's the only certainty here."

"Not the only one. You admitted, yourself, last night, that it must be sorcery at work. So if it's magic we're dealing with, then—"

"No. Don't say another word." Arthur is furious, and he doesn't feel like keeping his fury in check. "There must be another solution, and we will find it, and we will fix this. Maybe there is some cause unrelated to magic that we've not considered, some science that merely seems like magic because it's unfamiliar. Then if we find no reason other than magic, we will find out who did it and we will make them reverse it."

"How?" Merlin says quietly.

"We will solve that problem when we know more," Arthur says haughtily.

"I think you're making a mistake."

"Just because you're wearing my body, Merlin, is no cause to forget that you are my servant. And that use of magic is treason. Without exception, even for the king's son. Especially for the king's son—I must always set a good example, in that as in everything."

"I'm sorry, sire," Merlin says, but he doesn't sound sorry. "I just—"

"Are you still arguing, Merlin. God damn it, don't be a fool." More than ever, right now, Arthur regrets being tied to his chambers. He needs to be doing something, fighting someone, hunting something, not cooped up here like an invalid. He paces the room, trying to wear off his frustration. He needs to shut his mind to the idea that magic is the only solution, but— 

He grinds to a halt by the window and looks out. He's scared, though he can't and won't admit that to Merlin. He's scared that magic is the only option, and he's scared of what that means for him. 

For both of them.

*

As luck would have it, luck not being a good friend of Arthur's at the present, it's now that Uther shows up. Arthur hears the stomp of his boots in the corridor outside, and curses himself for not locking the door behind Gaius.

"Get into bed, as quickly as you can," he whispers urgently to Merlin, and thank God for once Merlin obeys him instantly. Arthur's gathering up the books, looking for a place to hide them, when the door latch rattles. He wills the door to stick to give him a few more precious seconds to hide their research, and runs for the bed. He's pushing the books under it when the door rattles and then a knock comes, sharp and peremptory.

"Arthur? It is your father. Open the door."

Arthur gets up from the floor and stares at the door. He could have sworn he hadn't turned the key, hadn't even gone to the door after Gaius left, but now, apparently, the door is locked. Yet another strange occurrence on a strange day, but at least luck isn't totally against him.

"Arthur." His father does not like to be kept waiting.

Arthur runs to the door and bows his father into the room, musing as he does that he actually makes a better servant than Merlin. "May I pour you a drink, your highness," he offers, but his father dismisses him with a flick of the wrist, so Arthur goes to stand near the bed, behind his father, but within sight of Merlin. He hopes Merlin thinks to look towards him before answering any questions.

"Gaius informed me of your condition," Uther tells Merlin, and Merlin nods and squeaks something that Arthur doesn't catch. 

"I see Merlin is much improved. I trust you will be by tomorrow. We cannot manage easily without you, son," Uther says. Arthur reads the disapproval, that his servant should recover so much faster than he has.

"I'm sure I will be recovered by tomorrow, yes. I'm just rather—" and Merlin makes some convincing retching noises, "nauseous still."

Uther turns around. "Make sure Gaius visits Arthur again before the day is out, in case any further treatment is required," he orders Arthur, and Arthur nods his understanding. "And Arthur," Uther continues, turning back to the bed. "Have you any suggestions for the matter of Withielgoose Mills? I have the miller and the village elder waiting for an audience, and I know it was a case you were interested in."

Damn. Merlin doesn't have a clue about the dispute between the miller and the villagers. Arthur shakes his head madly and wills Merlin to say as little as possible.

"I'm sorry, sire, I, um—I well, with, um—" Merlin starts and Arthur wishes he were a coward and could run away.

"Of course," Uther interrupts, "you're still not clear headed enough to be considering matters of state. I will send the men away and tell them to return tomorrow, and then you may make your contribution to the decision." 

Arthur lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Thank you, father," Merlin says weakly, and Arthur echoes it inside, fervently.

Arthur waits until his father's footsteps have died into the distance then firmly and deliberately turns the key in the lock.

*

They eat late.

"I know your secret, Merlin," Arthur says idly, tearing the last piece of chicken off the bone. He feels better for having a full stomach and good ale in him.

Merlin blanches and drops his knife with a clatter. "I don't have any secrets," he says. "Well, except the whole you being me and me being you of course, but then you know that one too, so it's not a secret from you. Why would you say I have a secret?"

Merlin needs to talk less if he ever wants Arthur to believe him when he's trying to lie. "You and Gaius, whispering last night. I know what you told him."

Arthur hadn't thought it possible for Merlin to go paler, yet he does. Why he should be this concerned, Arthur doesn't know. After all, it's hardly that great a shame.

"You do?" Merlin whispers.

"Yes, Gaius is your father, it's obvious. You look so alike at times, and as for your mannerisms, well, the only surprise is that no one else has guessed."

Merlin's jaw drops and then he doubles up and starts to shake. Arthur's about to take hold of him in case it's the ague and he bites through his tongue, when Merlin uncurls and it seems that he's shaking with laughter, not some sudden fit.

"You thought—" he starts, but anything else he says is unintelligible through his laughter.

"It's hardly that funny," Arthur remonstrates. Merlin seems to make a habit of poking fun at him—has from the very start—and Arthur's not sure if it's one of the things he most or least likes about Merlin. He finds Merlin confusing like that at times. "I suppose you're going to tell me that I'm mistaken."

"It's most definitely not true," Merlin assures him, and at least he's managing to contain his smile to a degree now.

*

That thing Arthur has to ask himself is, if that's not Merlin's secret, what is? What secret could a bumbling idiot like Merlin possibly have that would make him so scared?

Arthur's always been good at solving mysteries. This one shouldn't be too difficult.

*

Next morning dawns bright and sunny, unlike Arthur's mood. He doesn't even have even the bliss of a second's forgetfulness.

He primes Merlin over breakfast.

"Just, remember you're a prince not a servant. And don't joke, whatever you do. If you're not sure what to say—nod and try to look at least reasonably intelligent."

Merlin looks nervous. Arthur feels sick.

*

Arthur discovers that watching his knights train from the sidelines is the most frustrating thing ever. He can't correct Sir Culhwch's footwork or Sir Erec's grip—it's a sword, not a shovel—or yell at any of them. Worst of all, he can't yell at Merlin, not in public, though he nearly does when Merlin actually drops his sword, in front of everyone.

Also, Merlin's clothes are even itchier in the sun.

Arthur never sulks, but he thinks if he did, now would be a good time. He scratches his neck and glowers.

*

They pass Morgana and Gwen on their way back inside. Arthur stands as close to Merlin as he can, and hopes that he'll get the meaning of judicious nudges, pinches or jabs.

"I trust you're feeling better, now," Morgana says, with that spark in her eye that says she's amused that Arthur got sick from bad meat and that she wants him to know she's amused without actually being crude enough to say it. Arthur suspects that Merlin isn't going to get the finer points of that look.

Sure enough, he just grins happily at Morgana. "Much better, thank you." No witty response, no matching barb, nothing. Arthur's reputation will be in tatters by the time they're back in their own bodies.

Morgana looks taken aback at Merlin's response. "Oh. Good." After that, she seems to have been struck dumb, and Merlin's not saying anything either.

Arthur grins awkwardly at Gwen in a Merlin-like manner, and pokes Merlin in the back. For a wonder, Merlin takes the hint. "Um, see you later," he says, and then ruins it all with a little wave. 

*

"Are you deliberately trying to make me look like an idiot," Arthur asks as calmly as possible when they get back to his rooms. He shouts it, actually, but he considers that's relatively calm, considering.

Merlin smirks. "Why would I do that? You do a good enough job on your own."

Arthur ignores that, for now. "Morgana was suspicious."

"Ah, because I was polite to her. You should try it some time."

Arthur huffs. "I am polite to her. When she deserves it," he qualifies. "Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that I'm doing a far better job of pretending to be you than you are at being me."

Merlin smirks some more. "I'll try to be more of a prat."

Arthur silently prays to God for mercy.

*

God isn't with him. After lunch, which the two of them eat safely in his chambers, his father sends for Merlin.

"Don't worry," Arthur says, and hopes the fact that he's panicking doesn't show. "I'll come with you. Though I'll have to stand by the door—it wouldn't be appropriate for me to go any closer when you have a private audience."

"I can't do this."

"Of course you can. Just agree to whatever my father says."

"And if he tells me to lead the army into battle?"

"Merlin, we're not at war."

"What if he knows?"

Arthur takes a deep breath. "My father doesn't suspect a thing. And as long as you think before you speak—really, it's something you should try anyway—everything will be fine."

He only wishes he actually believes that.

*

"I'm glad to see you're back on your feet, Arthur," Uther greets them as they walk into the antechamber.

Merlin nods.

"I feel that with all the misfortune Camelot has faced lately, the people are in need of a celebration."

Merlin nods.

"And, of course, there is nothing the people enjoy more than a fight."

Merlin doesn't nod.

"Therefore, I will be announcing a tournament, for all comers. The winner will have the privilege of fighting the king's champion. You will be well enough to fight, I trust, son." Uther isn't asking a question.

Merlin doesn't move at all. In fact he appears to have been turned into stone. Arthur wills him to speak. All he needs to say is _yes, sire_. He wills it as hard as he can.

"Yes, sire," Merlin says in an odd tone, and Arthur would breath normally again if he didn't wonder how it is that he's willing things and they're happening.

Uther smiles. "Excellent." 

Now all Arthur needs to do is convey to Merlin that he's been dismissed, because the idiot is still standing there. Arthur coughs, loudly, and Merlin comes to life.

*

The argument starts the second they're out of the room.

"I can't fight," Merlin wails.

Arthur takes his arm and hauls him along the corridor. "You can't refuse. I'll look like a coward."

"There are worse things." Merlin doesn't understand.

"No, there aren't. A king who's a coward can't lead his country."

*

They now have until the day after tomorrow to fix this, or Merlin will probably get himself killed by accident in the tournament. They're no closer to an answer than they were at the start.

"I'll go and see Gaius," Merlin says. "See if he's found anything."

Arthur nods mutely. He looks at the books on the table, but they've scoured them all thoroughly, and although they've come across remedies for every complaint Arthur has heard of, and many he hadn't (and some he'd rather not have learned about), there's been nothing about people swapping bodies.

He stares at his face—Merlin's face—in the mirror. It's getting to feel almost familiar. Even the body is beginning to feel familiar, though he's been careful not to take any liberties, not even at night with the excuse of needing to relax. He's tempted, though, now he's on his own for the first time in days.

He shakes his head. It just wouldn't—No.

Instead, he ponders Merlin's secret. He's no closer to finding that out. Perhaps he'll have to discreetly get Morgana onto that, once they're back in their own bodies, naturally. She's always been as good as a terrier hunting badgers when it comes to rooting out secrets.

*

It's possible that Merlin has a worm. A large one, judging by the grumbling coming from Arthur's stomach. He doubts that's his secret, but it means he's not waiting for Merlin to get back before getting food.

He manages to scrounge bread and cheese from the kitchen without getting groped, and is just about to put his food down on the table when the sole of his shoe suddenly flaps open and sends him skidding. His plate goes up in the air, he curses, and—

It stops. In midair. 

He stares a moment, in shock, and then it falls with a crash. But there's no doubt about what he saw. What he just did.

He just performed magic.

Merlin's body can do magic. Has been doing all along, seeing through the door, stopping him stumbling, all the little things he's been trying to ignore.

Merlin is a sorcerer.

Merlin has been lying to him.

Arthur gets up off the floor, pulls on a pair of his own boots, and waits.

*

He lets Merlin sit down before he speaks.

Arthur draws himself up straight. "You've been lying to me."

Merlin looks shifty. "I, um, I don't know what you mean?" 

"Answer me this, Merlin. And if you lie, I swear, when this is all over, I will have you banished from Camelot. If you're not burnt at the stake."

Merlin looks petrified, but he lifts his chin and looks Arthur in the face. He's not short of courage, Arthur will allow him that, whatever else he is.

"The windstorm, the one that saved your village. Will didn't raise that, did he?" Arthur searches Merlin's face—his own face—and knows he's going to receive an honest answer. He knows what the answer is going to be, and he'd give almost anything to be wrong.

"No, it wasn't Will. He was a great friend, but he didn't have even an grain of magic in him." Merlin pauses, and Arthur could interrupt, stop him from saying the next words out loud. But he doesn't. "I raised the windstorm. I'm a sorcerer. Though I swear, I don't use it for evil, Arthur, it's not true that magic is always bad, whatever—"

"Are you challenging the law? The decree of the king? One of the foundations upon which my father has made Camelot great?" Arthur says, and he feels so full of rage it hurts his chest, makes it hard to breath. "Gaius, does he know?" he asks.

Merlin bites his lip but doesn't say a word.

"We're going to Gaius right now."

"You're not going to harm Gaius? You can't," Merlin pleads, grabbing hold of Arthur. 

"Just walk," Arthur demands, throwing off Merlin's hand, and opens the door.

Arthur can feel a burning in his eyes as he walks the corridors towards Gaius' rooms. The magic in him, Merlin's magic. It doesn't help.

He doesn't knock when they reach Gaius rooms—he is the crown prince, after all, whatever body he's in. He marches in and straight up to Gaius. Arthur's not in the mood for finesse or gentle questioning.

"Did you know your ward is a magician?" he asks.

Gaius sits down heavily. He looks older all of a sudden, but Arthur won't let himself feel pity. Can't. He's been lied to by Merlin, and by the look on Gaius face, with his full knowledge.

"I'm sorry, Gaius," Merlin says, but Gaius only glances at him quickly, a sorrowful glance.

Arthur leans over him. "Do you believe our current state to be caused by magic?"

"Yes, sire," Gaius says. "I fear there is no other explanation. And what is caused by magic can only be undone by magic. Though I doubt that is what you wanted to hear."

"It's true," Merlin says, and Arthur turns on him.

"Did you do this? Did you swap our bodies so that you would force me to get involved in magic, so that you could hold that over me? Was this all some elaborate scheme to blackmail me, so that if I ever found out your secret, I wouldn't be able to reveal it?" The words come out without Arthur thinking, and he's not sure he even believes it, but he trusted Merlin, trusted him not to lie to him, and yet all along there's been this huge lie between them.

"How can you say that?" Merlin shouts back, and Gaius hushes him. "Don't you trust me at all?" he asks, tone quieter, but not by much.

"Why should I?" Arthur says, and slams the door behind him as he leaves.

*

Nimueh laughs. 

She's seen enough for now—she ends the spell that allows her to watch the sorcerer and his little prince. Her plan is working, even faster than she had hoped. Merlin has been exposed for what he is. He won't trouble her much longer. And his death will weaken the prince's power, a happy side effect. Nothing can save them now.

The days of her exile from Camelot are numbered.

*

When Merlin returns to the bedchamber, Arthur grabs his hunting bag—he has it packed ready—and slings it over his shoulder.

Merlin hovers near the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"You're in my way," Arthur says in an even tone.

"I just want to know where you're going," Merlin persists. His eyes are red-rimmed, but Arthur won't feel sorry for him. 

"To sleep in your room." The only alternative is the stables, and Arthur does consider that for a moment, but the nights are cold, and he'd rather sleep in a bed than on straw. Just as long as Merlin isn't there.

Gaius doesn't say anything when he walks in. Just looks up a moment, and then goes back to his books, head down over his magnifying glass.

Arthur heads straight up to Merlin's room and slams the door behind him again.

*

Arthur hadn't thought things could get worse. He mentally kicks himself for tempting fate like that.

The tournament begins the following day, and he has to wait on Merlin. He can't avoid him or ignore him, because if he does heaven only knows what will happen. And he can't even enjoy the fighting, because whoever wins today will fight Merlin tomorrow.

He's standing at the entrance to the tourney ground, glaring at Merlin, when he feels a hand on his arm.

Gwen.

"You don't seem yourself," she says.

Arthur snorts.

"Have you and Arthur had a falling out?"

"Arthur's a—" Arthur doesn't have any suitable words for what he thinks of Merlin right now. Certainly none he can use in front of Gwen. "Never mind," he says, and goes back to glaring. He barely notices Gwen leave.

It's a long day.

*

The problem is, it's not the fact that Merlin's a sorcerer that's upsetting him. 

Obviously, it ought to be.

But it isn't.

It's not even that Merlin lied to him. Not entirely. Though he's far from thrilled about that. Especially when he remembers standing in front of his father and announcing that there was no way Merlin could be a sorcerer. 

The problem is, what's really bugging him, is that Merlin didn't trust him. 

He sits on Merlin's bed, head on his hands, and ponders what exactly that means. 

*

"Merlin, you have visitors," Gaius calls, and it takes a moment for Arthur to realise that he's calling him. 

"Coming, Gaius. Won't be a moment. Just have to take the curling rags out of my hair," he shouts. Hah, take that, Merlin, he thinks.

Morgana raises an eyebrow at him when he comes down the stairs, and Gwen's trying not to giggle.

"Perhaps you would accompany us for a short walk," Morgana suggests. Arthur's about to refuse, but then he remembers that he's just Merlin, and Morgana is Morgana, so a suggestion is really an order. He's beginning to understand Merlin's rebelliousness—following orders from just about _everyone_ is a pain. At least Arthur normally only has to follow Uther's, and if they're particularly frustrating, he can go and work out his frustrations by ordering someone else around. Not much chance of that as a manservant. He wishes Merlin had a dog. Perhaps he can find a rat, and train that to follow orders. Except knowing his current luck, it would either bite off his fingers or crap on his dinner plate.

"Certainly, my lady," Arthur says, and opens the door for her. 

"Merlin," Morgana begins, and he knows this tone. It's the tone she puts on for Uther when she's determined that she is right and he is wrong. He stifles a groan. "Gwen and I are concerned about you."

"You're being an idiot," Gwen says, coming straight to the point in a way that is oddly charming. And reminds him of Merlin.

Morgana tilts her head. "Not exactly the way I was going to word it, but yes. As much of an idiot as Arthur can be, which is saying something."

Arthur bites down hard on a protest. "In what way, my lady?" he asks.

"Clearly you and Arthur have quarrelled over something, and neither of you seem to have been yourself since you were taken ill at the feast the other night. But whatever it is, can't you just apologise and make it right? You know how proud Arthur is, and how impossible it is for him to apologise, even when he's in the wrong, but it wouldn't hurt you to do so."

"You're right, of course. Thank you for the advice," Arthur bites out. 

The problem is, he knows they really are right, in part, if greatly mistaken about the details. He needs to apologise to Merlin, because, no matter what he said in the heat of the moment, he never truly thought that Merlin would be behind this, that Merlin would blackmail him. He remembers back to the day in the village when he confronted Merlin and Will about the windstorm. Merlin had been about to confess. He'd risked certain exposure for what he was to save his village. That wasn't the mark of a blackmailer, but a courageous man. Someone Arthur would be proud to call friend.

He considers, ruefully, the idea of apologising. Arthur is skilled in many things, but not in this. He'll simply have to do his best.

*

"I'm sorry," he says.

"I'm truly sorry, Merlin."

"I apologise. I reacted badly."

Merlin's face stares back at him in Merlin's cracked mirror, mocking every attempt. Practicing clearly isn't the way to go. Besides, it's just prolonging the matter.

Merlin's standing by the bed, bare assed naked, when Arthur strides in. 

Arthur glares. "You idiot. The door was unlocked—anyone could have walked in."

Merlin jumps at his voice—apparently he hadn't even heard the door open, and Arthur knows he has perfectly good hearing—and grabs a bedsheet before turning around.

"Um," he says.

Arthur gets straight to the point. "Look, the thing is, you're not totally useless, and it's possible you've done magic for some good,"—saving Arthur's life, multiple times—"and when I'm king, I'll make certain changes to the law. In the meantime, you might as well carry on as my manservant." There. A perfectly good apology.

Merlin stands open-mouthed. And oddly silent.

Arthur huffs. "Do shut your mouth, you'll catch flies like that."

Merlin closes his mouth.

"But, in future, I'd like you to be honest with me, at all times. No more lying." Arthur is being incredibly reasonable.

Merlin nods his head emphatically. "Absolutely, yes. No more lies."

"Because we trust each other." Arthur feels the need to point that out, though why he's not sure.

"I do." It sounds odd coming from Merlin in Arthur's voice, more portentous than it should for a simple statement.

"Good," Arthur says. He's glad that's over with. It just leaves one question. "Merlin, why are you naked?"

Merlin pulls the sheet up to his chin. "I'm not. No. Not naked. Not at all."

"Haven't we just had a conversation about honesty?"

"Um, maybe?"

"So, why are you naked?"

Merlin grimaces. "Can't we just pretend I'm not?"

"Oh," Arthur says. " _Oh_."

"I'm sorry."

"No, that's all right. It's natural. I have a fine body. I understand, you want to—explore it." Arthur muffles his smile with his hand.

"I don't know," Merlin says thoughtfully. "You're not as b—"

Merlin makes a phmpfh sound as Arthur tackles him.

The humiliating thing is, he's pretty sure Merlin lets him win the fight.

That's the only humiliating thing. He most definitely does not get aroused from brawling with Merlin. Absolutely not.

He also doesn't watch Merlin in the mirror when he's getting dressed. That would just be weird.

*

"Time's running out. There must be somewhere else we can look." 

Arthur intercepts a look between Gaius and Merlin. "This really isn't the time for more secrets," he points out.

Gaius nods. "There's one more book we haven't shown you. A book of magic spells. I have been looking through it, but it's a huge book and the writing is small. It's possible I might have missed something." 

"You had a book of magic and you're only now getting around to telling me about it?" Arthur asks, horrified.

"Well, sire, we could hardly just bring it out before."

Arthur supposes he has a point. 

Merlin gets up and kneels on the floor. He pries up a floorboard and pulls out a book.

Arthur half-expected the book to look different. Evil, in some way. But it doesn't. It's just an ordinary book, full of cramped writing in many different hands, and scribbled notes in the margins.

"You take the left-hand side, I'll take the right," he says to Merlin. "We'll get through it quickest that way."

Merlin is either skimming the pages or is getting the easy pages. He keeps trying to turn the pages too fast, and Arthur has to keep slapping his hand away until he's finished his page.

"You have to read carefully," Arthur insists. "You never know where we might find something useful."

"What about this," he suggests, pointing to a spell to separate beans and peas.

"Don't be stupid," Merlin says, and tries to turn the page while Arthur's still holding it open. There's a ripping sound, and Merlin lets go.

Merlin glares. "I could have you put in the stocks."

"You wouldn't dare," Arthur says confidently.

"Try me," Merlin taunts.

Gaius stirs on his bed and hitches himself up on one elbow. "Boys, boys, really. Time's running out, work together. And quietly, please. I need my sleep."

The candles are worn to stubs, and there's a faint trace of grey light coming through the windows when they reach the last page.

There's nothing in the entire book that relates to their problem in any way.

"Now what?" Arthur asks

Merlin looks across to Gaius. He's sleeping.

"You have to promise not to tell Gaius," he whispers, and beckons Arthur to follow him out of the room.

*

Merlin leans against the door and looks up and down the corridor. There's no one around, but he pitches his voice low. "There is one other—um, creature, we could ask for help."

"And why are you only mentioning this now?"

"Well—"

Arthur sighs. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

Merlin shakes his head.

"Go on, tell me."

"It's the Great Dragon."

"The one my father has imprisoned?"

Merlin nods.

"That no one is allowed to visit?"

Merlin grimaces. "Um."

"And I suppose you know how to get past the guards without them seeing us?"

Merlin grins.

*

"Ahem," Merlin coughs.

"That's how you summon a great dragon? Seriously, Merlin? You cough at him?" Arthur never wonders if Merlin were dropped on his head as a child. He just wonders how many times.

Merlin looks vaguely sheepish, and completely insubordinate. "I'm sorry, sire. I'm not aware of the proper protocol for calling to a dragon that's chained up under the castle," he says, and Arthur's not sure that he's aware just how ridiculous he sounds when he's trying to be snooty.

"You're also sadly lacking in common sense, along with many other traits that would be useful in a manservant or a sorcerer." Arthur sighs. "Dragon, I demand your presence," he shouts, and isn't at all disconcerted by the multitudes of echoes of his voice chanting after him.

The echo is followed by the sound of huge wings, and then a warm blast of air. Arthur resolutely does not take a step back. Or at least, it's only a little step, and it's simply because the footing underneath is rough, and this body is clumsier than his own.

"So I finally meet the once and future king," the dragon says. "He's not what I was expecting."

The dragon is exactly what Arthur was expecting. Only larger. Much larger. He gulps.

"I'm in Merlin's body. That's me," he says, pointing at Merlin. "Well, you know, that's my body. This is me, here. Just." Damn it, he's beginning to sound as imbecilic as Merlin.

"I am fully aware of the plight that you are in," the dragon intones, gusting warm, rank breath over them with each word.

"So can you do something?" Merlin asks. 

"You will never be entirely separate from now on."

Arthur stares. "Are you telling us this can't be undone?"

"All will be made clear when the time is right."

"But that's the whole problem. Time's running out," Merlin says. Arthur is tempted to point out that they'd hardly be coming down here to speak to an enigmatic dragon if it weren't desperate, but he thinks maybe insulting a dragon who can breathe fire wouldn't be a wise course of action, especially when he's not in his own body to protect them both.

"Time flows as a constant. It is merely to mortal humans that it appears to run fast or slow," the dragon says. It clambers further up its rock and takes off with a huge clanking of chains.

"Well, that was just brilliant. Great idea, Merlin. Thanks," Arthur snaps, putting all the sarcasm he's capable of into the thanks.

Merlin looks petulant, which is irritating when he's got Arthur's face. "I wasn't to know he'd be no help," he says sulkily. "Well, maybe I might have guessed—"

*

They creep back into Gaius' chamber quietly, but he's sleeping soundly and doesn't stir. Merlin sits down at the table and falls asleep in seconds, head pillowed on his arms. Arthur doesn't have the heart to disturb him.

The only solution Arthur can think of is for him to fight in Merlin's place. If he goes out in full armour, it's possible - no it isn't, but he might be able to convince Merlin—that no one will know the difference. Even in this body, he can still fight. 

He pictures the Mercian giant who won all his bouts yesterday. It would be really convenient if Merlin's magic were strong enough for him to stop time.

He wills it, as hard as he can, but Gaius keeps on snoring, Merlin mutters in his sleep, the last of the candles burns out, and the light outside gets brighter.

So much for magic.

*

Gaius wakes up with a muffled snort. He looks blearily up at Arthur and Arthur shakes his head.

"Oh, dear," Gaius says. "I really did hope you would find an answer in that book."

"I suppose that was our last hope," Arthur says. "Unless I find the sorcerer responsible and kill him. Or her. That would end the spell, surely?"

"In all probability, yet. But killing a powerful sorcerer isn't an easy task, I fear. And least of all when you're—well, not yourself, so to speak. Oh," Gaius says suddenly, and strokes his cheek thoughtfully. His exclamation wakes Merlin.

"What is it?" Merlin asks, sitting up with a start.

"I've been an idiot," Gaius says.

Merlin looks as though he's about to reply, so Arthur claps a hand over his mouth. "What have you just remembered?" Arthur asks.

"It's a long shot, but—" Gaius sighs, as though he doesn't want to reveal his idea. Then, reluctantly—slowly—starts to talk. "There are still magic books in the kingdom. Your father had most destroyed, but some, the greatest ones, he kept. He has entrusted them to Geoffrey of Monmouth, who keeps them securely locked away, with strict instructions that they are to be seen by no one. I have never seen them, but—"

Arthur can't hold back his impatience. "You know exactly where they are?"

"Yes."

"So Merlin can steal the keys."

Merlin looks up. "What? Me? No. Oh, no, I'm not stealing anything."

"Why not? Geoffrey isn't going to suspect you of anything. As far as he's concerned, you're the prince of Camelot." 

"And what reason am I going to give for being there? A sudden scholastic urge?"

Arthur has to admit that sounds unlikely.

"Maybe Gaius—" he starts, but Merlin interrupts.

"You can open the locks. With magic."

"Are you out of your addle-pated, bone-headed, tiny mind?" Arthur's restraining himself.

"The spell's easy," Merlin says, as though that's the issue. "It won't take you long to learn."

"That's great, because obviously _that_ was the part that bothered me." 

Merlin at least has the sense to look a little sheepish. "Look, I know it's not ideal—"

"You think?"

"But we're running low on options."

Arthur will give him that.

"Very well," he says, and very soon he has every lock in Gaius house open. 

He doesn't admit that it's actually fun.

*

Arthur attempts to plan the break in—he is, after all, accustomed to making battle plans—but Gaius and Merlin both groan when he starts plotting out a course of action.

Gaius raises a hand for silence. "I will go in," he says, "and draw Geoffrey's attention to the far side of the room, while you creep in. Arthur can unlock the room, and you two can take whatever books you can easily carry."

It all goes exactly to Gaius' plan. 

Well, almost.

Merlin nearly sabotages matters with his clumsiness. There's a book sliding off the top of the pile Merlin's carrying, and Arthur has his hands full, and if it falls, if it makes any sort of sound, they'll be caught. 

Arthur concentrates.

The book slides back into place, safely on top of the others. 

"You oaf," he whispers once they're safely out.

"You're getting quite good at magic," Merlin says cheekily.

Arthur's hands are full, so he makes do with narrowing his eyes at Merlin. It's a wasted effort, as ever.

*

"I'd much rather be fighting off a monster," Arthur grumbles. The books are all musty and Arthur can't stop sneezing. Apparently Merlin's body is sensitive to mould.

"There has to be something," Merlin says desperately.

"There's an interesting spell here to prevent the thinning of the hair," Gaius says, and then looks up as though surprised he mentioned it out loud. "Ah, not relevant." He stoops back over his magnifying glass.

"There's something here," Merlin says. "Only, no, this can't be it."

"What is it?"

"It's a spell to exchange bodies."

"Does it say how to get back to your own body?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"But what?" 

"But it says 'only the souls of two who are joined may be exchanged in this manner.' 

"You mean, married?"

Merlin shrugs. "Um, yes, I suppose."

Gauis coughs. "The great dragon did say that you have a bond." Arthur would swear there's a knowing sort of twinkle in his eye.

Merlin blushes. Arthur's just warm sitting this close to the fire.

"We have to try it. What do we need to do?"

"We have make a potion from the leaves of Stinking Gladwin, the petals of pilewort and the ground bark of an ash tree." Merlin looks up at Gaius.

"We have all those. I'll start making it."

Merlin runs his finger down the rest of the page. "There's a spell to say over it to complete the potion—we'll have to say that together. Then we drink it, and—"

Merlin pauses, so Arthur leans over his shoulder and reads the rest. Great, they have to sit and hold hands and wait for the spell to work. The universe thinks he's married to Merlin. The universe hates him.

He's even more convinced of that when he takes his first swallow of the potion. "Urgh."

He hands the cup to Merlin, who first looks reluctant, and then as though he wants to spit it out. "Do we have to drink all of it," he asks, plaintively.

Gaius nods emphatically. "Oh, yes, every drop," he says. Arthur thinks he's enjoying this.

Arthur's draining the last drop when he starts to feel odd. He holds onto Merlin—just to reassure him, no other reason—and has a sudden thought that it might have been best to do this somewhere lying down, considering that they fell unconscious before.

He thinks that would have been a really good idea when he wakes up, on the floor, and feels the bump on his head. His own head.

"It worked," he shouts, then, "ow."

*

Nimueh tilts back her head and screams. All ruined, all her plans ruined.

She throws a goblet into the basin, but she can still make out their faces even through the ripples. She mutters words, pulling them up through her fury, and the surface of the water goes milky-white like a blind woman eye's. 

*

Arthur waits at the entrance of the tourney arena. He nods civilly at Morgana as she passes—he hasn't forgotten what she said about him—and holds out his hand for his sword.

Merlin manages not to fumble it.

"That was the cruellest curse ever," Arthur muses.

"It wasn't that bad, really."

Arthur stares at him. "We were stuck with each other. Constantly."

"So, what, you'd rather have had boils?"

"Any day."

"That can be arranged." Merlin grins.

"I'd have you put in the stocks for treason, but I have a feeling you actually enjoy yourself there." Arthur can't quite hide his own grin.

*

Arthur's rarely enjoyed a fight like he does with the giant from Mercia. He drags it out, to roars of appreciation from the crowd, dances around the man and teases him with harmless jabs, then drives him hard until he can see the whites of the man's eyes behind his helmet. Arthur brings him down with one final perfect thrust, and the crowd all are on their feet cheering.

Arthur pulls off his helmet and gazes around the arena. Merlin's at the entrance, grinning like a loon. Arthur grins back.

*

"So, no more secrets," Arthur says, as Merlin removes Arthur's gorget.

"Ah," Merlin says, as he moves onto the breastplate.

"Ah?"

"Well. You see. There's one more little thing about the spell." Merlin seems to be transfixed by Arthur's gauntlets now.

"How little a thing?"

"Well, two little things actually. One, your pee will be dark blue for a while from the potion,"—Arthur has already noticed that—"and secondly, um, we might be sort of not exactly completely unjoined."

"Sort of not exactly completely unjoined?" His voice comes out in a most undignified squeak. Arthur swallows and drops his voice an octave. "What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"It means we've 'forced our souls back into their proper vessels'—that's what the book said—but we didn't completely undo the original spell. So we're still—joined. In a way. Our souls are still connected." Merlin pauses. "I think that's what the dragon was on about."

"Oh." Arthur clearly ought to be furious about this, but oddly enough he isn't.

Merlin finally looks up. "You don't mind?"

"Well, you're an idiot, and if you take any longer over undoing my gauntlets I'm going to have to sleep in them, but otherwise—" He shrugs. "Oh, bugger all this," he says, and kisses Merlin. After all, if even the dragon approves—

 


End file.
